Fantasies
by Kioasakka
Summary: She didn't love him, of course. She fantasized about killing him... after she was finished fantasized about what he was like in bed.


She wasn't blind. Zuko had gotten really hot, really fast. He seemed to ooze fire wherever he went, and she liked fire. She liked fire _a lot._ She wanted to taste him, almost as much as she wanted to kill him.

Almost.

Somehow the trauma or disgust that should have come with this attraction just never showed up. So he was her brother—who cared? He was_ hot._ And she wouldn't mind, really, just a tiny little taste…

Or the whole thing.

She didn't love him, of course. Love was something that only happened to the weak, and Princess Azula was _not_ weak. And besides, she fantasized about killing him… after she was finished fantasizing about what he was like in bed. No, she did not have to love him to want to have sex with him. Where would the fun in the sex be if silly old _love_ were there to complicate things, anyway?

She didn't even want passion. Passion was basically love with the heat turned up, and it was not the sort of thing Azula would ever dabble in. All she wanted, really, was to just seduce him the way she knew she could, and lure him to her chambers where she would have her way with him. Yes, that's right—no one would ever have their way with _her;_ rather, _she _would be in complete control at all times.

It would be so easy. Just a little bat of the eyes, an evil smile, a lick of the lips, and a few charming words, maybe a straying hand—and he would be begging for her.

And it was easy at first to manage the fantasies of her and Zuko. But as time went on, and still hotter he became, still so deliciously unattainable and sexy— she began to confuse her fantasies with reality. Did she really have Zuko in her bed with her last night, or did she only imagine it? Was it only in her imagination that she ran her hands over his tight stomach muscles and practically burn the room to the ground? It _must _have been real—it had been so hot, so incredibly_ hot,_ that her bed and the walls must have certainly melted, all the cloth in the room must have caught fire—fresh lava had bubbled on the floor, and she had been nearly breathless with the heat inside her own body as she came—

But when she woke the next morning, her bed was empty save for herself, and nothing had melted. Though, her blankets had been singed where she'd burnt them during that sweet moment of ecstasy where she'd tasted his hot tongue in her mouth and felt him inside her.

And how baffling it was, to think that despite having been with her in her room every night, he wasn't even in the Fire Nation. What kind of strange abilities did her Zuzu possess?

They must only be fantasies, for whenever she would see him in the flesh, she would taste a different kind of lust in her mouth—not lust for his body, for that heat, but for the blood in his veins, to see it pool around him as he gaped helplessly, lifelessly at her laughing face. Yes, only fantasies… And yet, that little fact seemed to elude her when she went to bed each night and met the fantasies with a hot vigor.

To an outsider looking in, they would only see the Princess lay still and unmoving in her bed, not even unclothed, not stimulating herself in any way. And yet she would growl and hiss and breath heavily and occasionally convulse, all the motions as if she were, indeed, having sex. And yet there would be nobody and nothing there.

But Azula could physically see and feel Zuko on top of her, inside of her, and feel his skin give way where her nails on his back dig too hard. He _must _be there—she could _see_ him, feel him, taste him, smell him… she never heard him, naturally, because she ordered for his silence long ago… But he was there.

They weren't fantasies. It was absolutely real.

And yet, when she would see him in the daylight, and there he was for _real_—she would scowl and shove aside the possibility that she only imagined it. They were_ not_ fantasies. They just weren't.

But it wasn't like she'd ever let him know. She'd have her way with him every night, and then when daylight came, she would be ready to spill his blood. She wouldn't mourn the loss of these nights when she'd finally killed him, because that spilled blood would satiate her hunger for his heat better than a thousand nights with him ever could.

No. They were certainly not fantasies. They were too real. Fantasies this real were for people with a few screws loose. Crazies. Madmen. Not her. Never her. Certainly not Princess Azula.

And when the night came and she retired to her bed, he would come to her from the shadows. If it was anyone's fault, it was his for coming back every night. She just went along with it.

Yes, that's… right…

They weren't fantasies. They couldn't be.


End file.
